Remembering the life and times of ‘Thomas Kitty’

By Pam Stone

Published: Saturday, February 9, 2013 at 06:38 PM.

It was the next day, unbeknownst to me, that a call came for Paul from a friend, her voice breaking on the other end. And I thought nothing of it when Paul hopped in his car announcing he’d be “right back.” But I was completely unprepared, minutes later, when he ascended the front steps with Thomas wrapped carefully in a blanket. He had been found, two miles away, in exactly the same spot as his sibling, a year before.

I am not embarrassed to tell you that I burst into tears and sobbed like a child. Paul was cursing with grief before he , too, broke down and refusing to let me look at the state of his body, we buried him quickly before the weather turned violent. It may sound silly but it was tremendously important to bring him home and protect him from the approaching storm and not leave him to the elements.

I once wrote that I would never equate the grief of losing an animal to that of a human. I believe I’ve changed my mind because grief is borne from love and I don’t believe there is a measuring stick for that. Love is love. Whether it be for one’s mother or uncle or rabbit or dog.

To be honest, I struggled mightily with the decision of writing this. Do I really want to put readers through another ‘we lost our cherished cat’ column, I asked myself. However, the literary golden rule is to ‘write what you know,’ and frankly, when one is grieving, it’s nearly impossible to find anything fluffy and funny to jot down, instead.

In fact, it feels disloyal. And Thomas Kitty deserves a column.

It took Paul and me a solid six months to coax the black and white male, who showed up on our front deck one brisk October night, into our arms and home. It was clear that he wasn’t alone in his abandonment. Within a couple of weeks, we saw what must have been two other siblings: one in the woods, another in the front field, lying low in the grass, beneath an oak. Our neighbor adopted one after announcing, “He just walked right across our yard and moved in.”

The other we later saw on the side of the road in front of an old farm house, a couple of miles away.

Having gotten used to seeing “Thomas” come and go every few weeks, it was with mixed feelings when we discovered the other cat. Examining it closely, we were very sad it came to such an end but were relieved it wasn’t the same fellow that now had moved into the old shack from where I had broadcast my radio show for several years, to share kibble with two other rescues that had taken up residence inside. Amazingly, there was no rancor and on mild days, after my barn chores were completed in the morning, I would see Thomas warming himself on the top step and I would walk cautiously over, calling, “Hi kitty, kitty. Hi, Thomas. Hi Thomas Kitty.”

Sitting down carefully on the other side of the step, Thomas would eye me warily and then give in to his playful nature and roll over on his back, worming himself closer towards me, inch by inch. I picked up a thin twig and reached over and tickled his stomach. He smacked it away but showed no tension or fear. Within days, he was following me to the front door of our house, then actually escorting me, trotting, tail raised like a mast, comically causing me to trip over him as he would repeatedly fling himself onto the ground, directly in my path, to roll and flirt.

However, I still couldn’t quite catch him.

It was Paul who managed it and one day, I passed him in his car as I was driving home from the feedstore . He waved me to a stop and I peered from my truck window, through his driver’s side and there, in the cat crate, sat a most compliant and interested Thomas, bound for the vet’s for a physical and, ahem, a snip.

Once in the office, on the examination table, Thomas began his legacy of affection to all and his gratitude for capture became evident as he stretched luxuriously across the stainless steel surface and purred so loudly that Dr Jeni declared she couldn’t hear his heart beat. She tried every trick in the book, even trickling water on his ear, but the rapturous vibration continued.

Once home, Thomas moved in with absolutely no outcry from the other cats. Bonnie and Rosie, who had aggressively chased him from our property, despite our frantic calls to heel, numerous times owing to his prolific habit of spraying the shrubbery all along the front of our house, accepted him immediately. Rowdy and playful, we laughed as he chased us daily down the hall, batting our bare ankles as if they were hockey pucks. Facebook friends delighted in videos I posted of Thomas Kitty being incapable of ignoring my whistled theme to ‘The Andy Griffith Show” and come tearing from wherever he was: yard or bedroom, to find the source of the tune and then promptly give me a whap with his paw for manipulating him so.

Having lived wild for so long, Thomas wouldn’t and couldn’t be contained in our small home. It was unnatural for him and while we insist that all cats and dogs come in at night and most of the time during the day, Thomas delighted in following me to the barn each morning, lying on his back in each stall I cleaned then waiting on a hay bale while I swept the aisle and filled water buckets, before accompanying me back to the house for breakfast. Simply put, I adored him and he adored me. He had great affection for Paul as well, but as we know, in each household, cats and dogs tend to bond with one person a touch more than the other and Thomas handed me the honor.

When he went out, as usual, a few mornings ago, I found him in front of the barn, crouched next to the horse’s water trough by the by the pasture gate, drinking from a puddle. “Silly boy,” I called. “All that clean water in your dish and you drink that.” he ignored me.

And that was the last time I saw him.

Thomas often went mousing but always returned to the front door by noon. This time he didn’t show up and Paul and I worried as evening approached. We went out with flash lights and called and called and comforted ourselves by saying if any cat could handle being out at night, it was Thomas. Surely we would find him hungry and unapologetic at the front door by morning.

It was the next day, unbeknownst to me, that a call came for Paul from a friend, her voice breaking on the other end. And I thought nothing of it when Paul hopped in his car announcing he’d be “right back.” But I was completely unprepared, minutes later, when he ascended the front steps with Thomas wrapped carefully in a blanket. He had been found, two miles away, in exactly the same spot as his sibling, a year before.

I am not embarrassed to tell you that I burst into tears and sobbed like a child. Paul was cursing with grief before he , too, broke down and refusing to let me look at the state of his body, we buried him quickly before the weather turned violent. It may sound silly but it was tremendously important to bring him home and protect him from the approaching storm and not leave him to the elements.

I once wrote that I would never equate the grief of losing an animal to that of a human. I believe I’ve changed my mind because grief is borne from love and I don’t believe there is a measuring stick for that. Love is love. Whether it be for one’s mother or uncle or rabbit or dog.